Oilpressure

My post the other day discussed the 1995 race, and what a good race it was even though it is overlooked by many. There is another aspect from that race weekend that I failed to mention.

In the winter of 1995, I was 36 years old. You know, that age where you start realizing you aren’t getting any younger and you are not just wild about your job. You start fantasizing about landing that possible “dream job” before you get too old and life passes you by.

On a whim, I sent a resume to CART CEO Andrew Craig in February of 1995. I offered up my services just to get into the organization to work my way up. Surely there was no one there who had as much passion for the sport as I did. I had a degree in Marketing. I was certain it wouldn’t take long for my talents and that passion to take me to the top.

A few months went by. I had pretty much written off any chances of hearing anything when I got a call one Monday night in May from Andrew Craig’s admin assistant. I had just returned from the second weekend of qualifying, and the race was to run the next weekend. She said there was an open marketing position, and that Mr. Craig was intrigued with my resume, as well as my interest in racing. She asked if I would be in Indianapolis on Race Weekend. When I told her I would, she told me to be at the CART motorcoach in the hospitality lot at 2:00 pm that Saturday – the day before the race.

I was excited, yet petrified. This was to be my big break. Do I wear a suit or show up in casual attire? After all, I was going to be at a race track. Keep in mind, interviews were a lot more formal 30 years ago than they are today. I polled a lot of people, and the overwhelming majority told me to wear a suit. They said it was better to overdress for an interview than to underdress.

My wife (at the time) and I had friends with USAC. We used to hang out in one of those shops in the garage area that run west to east – perpendicular to the garages. I don’t remember who occupied that space, but it was in space N-3. To this day, I see it every time I walk by it. They were nice enough to let me change into my suit, but they ridiculed me as I walked out. It was a very odd feeling, walking around the garages in a suit. There was a lot more activity the day before the race back then. The garages weren‘t packed, but there was definitely a lot of people milling about. I’ve never been as self-conscious as I was walking through Gasoline Alley in a suit.

I arrived at the CART motorcoach around 1:55 pm. The door was shut, so I knocked. That was a mistake. Carl Hogan, Bobby Rahal’s partner at the time, opened the door. The familiar grin we always saw on television from him, was replaced by a steely stare that I could feel, even behind his Ray-Ban sunglasses. I told him I had an appointment with Andrew Craig. Hogan motioned for someone to get up there and deal with me. Some guy in jeans and a polo made his way to the door and asked what I needed. When I told him, he told me to come back at 3:00.

Keep in mind what was going on at the time. It turned out, I had interrupted negotiations between the CART owners and Tony George regarding the threatened upcoming IRL season for the following year. I felt as welcome as the proverbial turd in the punchbowl.

I sheepishly made my way back to the garage area and my wife, who was waiting with our USAC friends. My wife told me what I “should have done” to show how aggressive I could be. I told her she didn’t understand the gravity of the situation I had walked in on. Our USAC friends agreed with me.

By this time, my head was spinning. All of the possible scenarios and questions I had prepared for were pretty well out the window at this point. I nervously waited out the hour and returned to the motor coach. I could not see anything through the blacked-out windows, so I knocked again. The same guy in the jeans and the polo came back and told me to wait there. The meeting would be breaking up in about five minutes.

As it turned out – it was about twenty-five minutes. It was hot that day. Standing in the sun, dealing with my nerves while wearing a suit didn’t help.

Finally the door to the coach opened up. It was a Who’s Who in IndyCar ownership that passed right by me, all with very glum faces. Bobby Rahal, Carl Hogan, Carl Haas, Roger Penske, Dale Coyne, Chip Ganassi, Pat Patrick, Barry Green, Tony Bettenhausen and Dick Simon were just a few faces I recognized as they filed by me standing there, dripping wet in my suit.

When the bus had emptied out, the guy in the polo came to the door and invited me in. He introduced himself as Randy Dzierzawski. That was as friendly as he got. He took me to the back of the bus to the circular seating area. Andrew Craig finally appeared out of the small restroom on the coach. He introduced himself and explained that a very contentious meeting had just ended, and Randy would be handling the interview.

You know how sometimes you feel an immediate connection when you meet someone, while other times you form an immediate and unexplained dislike for others. The first was how I felt when I met Andrew Craig. The latter was how I felt about Randy Dzierzawski. I disliked him from the moment I laid eyes on him. If you were to look up slime-ball in the dictionary (remember those?), you would likely see his picture.

Over the years, I have sat on both sides of the desk in interviews, although I’ve not been the one interviewed in over fifteen years. But in all of the interview panels I have been on in the past few years, I have mentally used Randy Dzierzawski as an example of how not to treat candidates on an interview.

If I had to describe him in one word, that word would be “condescending”. I get it that Mr. Craig had more important things on his mind and I understood why he passed me off to his underling – but apparently Dzierzawski did not. He made it very clear he would prefer getting a root canal, rather than talk to me. He went through the motions of asking very generic questions, and he was obviously barely listening to my answers.

Keep in mind, as The Split was approaching – I was siding with CART. I disagreed with what Tony George was doing. I wanted everything to remain the same. You know…Change is Bad! Dzierzawski talked arrogantly in very general terms about the ongoing disagreement between CART and the IRL – most of which I already knew, even though this was before I had ever seen the internet. But at some point with a very unlikable smirk on his face, he referred to the Indianapolis 500 as “…this stupid Super Bowl of theirs”.

At this point, I already knew my candidacy was over. Before the interview had even started, it had devolved into what is known as a courtesy interview; where the decision has already been made, but the interviewer is going through the motions as a courtesy. Since I had nothing to lose, I unloaded on his comment. I told him what a special part of my life the Indianapolis 500 had become, and that I found his sarcastic calling it a Super Bowl to be dismissive and insulting. Rather than backtracking after realizing he had touched a nerve, he simply rolled his eyes as I went off on my rant.

After less than twenty minutes, I left the motor coach knowing I had just wasted a Saturday afternoon on Memorial Day weekend, sweating all over my suit. Would things have gone any differently had I interviewed with Andrew Craig, and there had not been a contentious owners meeting that afternoon? Probably not, but I think he was enough of a gentleman that he would have been more pleasant to deal with. After more than two months, I finally received the following rejection letter in the mail.

I normally don’t like to dance on the graves of people after they have lost their job. I can only think of one person I’d really love to see fired, but even if I personally don’t like someone – I usually don’t take pleasure in seeing them lose their job. But when Randy Dzierzawski was forced to resign as CART CFO five years after that smug interview where he had been so nasty – I couldn’t help but smile.

From the where are they now department – Randy Dzierzawski went into the wine business with car-owner Gerry Forsythe. Without going into detail, the relationship soured. Dzierzawski ended up going rogue on a deal that was not exactly above board. If you simply google the name “Randy Dzierzawski”. You will see a list of multiple lawsuits, one of them being by Forsythe, all naming Dzierzawski as the defendant. I’m not saying I take joy in that, I’m just presenting the facts.

The last I heard of Randy Dzierzawski, he had filed for Chapter 7 bankruptcy protection in April of 2013. That was where even I felt sorry for the guy. He was an arrogant pr*ck to me, but I would not wish that on anyone – no matter what ills they had committed. I think at the time of that wasted interview, Dzierzawski was 32. That would put him at 62 now. I don’t know where he is or what he is doing these days, but I hope he has honed his people skills and interviewer skills. I also hope he has settled up his legal issues.

How you treat people is important. I’m sure if someone was to mention my name to Dzierzawski, he would have no idea who I was or what they were talking about. But thirty years later, I will never forget how I was treated that afternoon at IMS, the day before the 1995 Indianapolis 500.

George Phillips

This entry was posted on May 8, 2025 at 4:04 am and is filed under Indianapolis 500. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.